CHAPTER IV

TOM BREAKS THE TRAIL

The next ten days were dull ones for the Mystery Boys. Mexico was in a state of excitement, due to the approach of the Presidential election; and, while the revolutionary times were gone and a more orderly election would take place, there were some excitable spirits in the city whose outbreaks made it unwise for the youths to go out on the streets too often.

Cliff was busy enough for he worked with his father: Mr. Gray was working on a theory that all of the Indian tribes from North America, through Mexico, Central America, Venezuela and down to Peru, were offshoots of the same original migration from some other continent, many centuries before the white people discovered the new continents. He was writing a book about that migration, and his work in Mexico dealt with studies of the old Toltecs, who preceded the establishing of the Aztec empire.

It surprised the youths to learn how closely the Toltecs, and the Aztecs later, were allied with the Incas of Peru in certain ways: both were agriculturists of a high order, as were the Texcucans, kindred with the Azteca. But there was a great contrast in the nature of the people; while the Incas had been a mild people, ruling kindly, punishing justly, fighting only for a necessary cause, the Aztecs had been a fierce, cruel, actually brutal people, even giving the name of their war god, Mexitli, to their land in the corrupted form, Mexico.

Mr. Gray was anxious to fill in many gaps in his history by studying the life and customs and legends of the host of Central American tribes, the Mayas, the Chocos, the Mosquito and Talamanca tribes, as well as the Goajiras, the San Blas, and others.

But he hesitated, although the adventure offered in Henry Morgan’s proposal would give him close contact with some of the natives of at least one section—Spanish Honduras. The tribes were all rough, rather fierce, very primitive; and he was aged, as well as having been weakened, during his stay among the Incas. Nevertheless, had he seen a way, he would have gone into the adventure.

Nicky, staying rather idly in their hotel with Tom, was glum. He craved excitement; not only was he active and impulsive, but he was adventure-loving, athletic and quick, and he liked to go into strange places and meet new situations. Also Nicky sympathized keenly with Tom over the loss of the latter’s sister, and the uncertainty of her fate.

Tom, for his part, most eager of all to go to the Mosquito country and learn what could be learned about Margery, did not seem nearly as despondent as Nicky, nor was he as busy as Cliff; yet he seemed able to wear a confident air which puzzled both of his comrades.

Nicky sat with Tom in their hotel room, chafing at his long inactivity. Tom was busy going over some books which Cliff’s father had found for him in the public library.

“Here’s a funny one,” he exclaimed, indicating a passage in the book he held. “One explorer was down in the Central Americas, and because it is so rainy at times he had a mackintosh. Do you know, Nicky, that mackintosh gave him more trouble than anything else, because when the Indians saw him wearing it, as he came toward their villages on the river in his canoe, they thought he was a priest, and because some priests had sometimes been harsh in trying to compel the Indians to adopt their creeds, the Indians all ran and hid and this explorer couldn’t get any pictures of them or any stories.”

Nicky smiled forlornly. Cliff, coming in, with his father, saw Tom with a grin on his face and his companion looking glum.

“I wish I knew what makes Tom so joyful,” Cliff said. “Tom, why don’t you be a good fellow and tell your chums what you know that makes you feel so good. Is it that telegram you got last Saturday?”

Tom grinned with a touch of malice.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“Say, look here!” burst out Nicky, “you’re not acting fairly to the Mystery Boys’ order. You are keeping a secret.”

“No,” Tom answered, grinning still more, “I’m simply living up to our oath—with a vengeance. ‘Telling all, I tell nothing; Seeing All, I see nothing, Knowing All, I know nothing!’” he quoted their oath of allegiance.

“Father, do you know what it is that he knows?” Cliff appealed to Mr. Gray who smilingly shook his head.

“Well, I’m going to shake it out of him,” cried Cliff. “Come on, Nicky.” The two attacked Tom with gusto, letting off some of their pent-up “steam” in an old-fashioned tussle that boded ill for the hotel furniture. Mr. Gray, only watchful lest they harm any of his old records, let them have their fun. Panting and laughing, at last they gave up, still none the wiser. A knock on the door panels halted their fun.

“Tom,” said Mr. Gray, turning from a brief conversation at the door, “There is a gentleman in the office asking for you.”

“A gentleman?” cried Nicky. “Who is it?”

“Have him come on up, please, sir,” begged Tom, and then turned his back deliberately on his companions while he stared out of the window; but Cliff, watching, saw his shoulders shaking.

Tom expected this arrival! Who could it be? The door opened. With a simultaneous shout three youths launched themselves toward the tall, thin, lank figure that appeared.

“Bill—‘quipu’ Bill!”

They grabbed him: they pawed him; they pounded him.

Bill Saunders had been prospecting in the Peruvian Andes at the time that Cliff had gone to try to discover if his father was still alive among a hidden Inca tribe in the cordilleras. Bill had taken active part in their adventures. After the successful end of the trip he had, with his share of money paid him by Mr. Gray, bought a Texas ranch. The youths heard from him often. Now, here he was.

“What are you doing here—how did you know——” Nicky began. Then he turned suddenly on Tom.

“So that’s why you ran off by yourself to telegraph when we got back to the city, and that’s why you wouldn’t tell us what was in the telegram you got!” he accused. “You sent for Bill.”

“I told you at the mine, I would leave no stone unturned to get news of Margery,” Tom admitted. “I said I knew one stone I’d turn.”

“And I guess I was it,” grinned Bill Saunders, depositing his long length in a chair. “Your telegram hit me just in time. I don’t know your mind and you don’t know mine, but if there’s any chance for a rolling stone to gather a little more moss, here’s the stone, all ready to roll. Cow-raisin’ is not very profitable, just now, and my bank book could stand a little more fattening. I never did—and I never will—forgive you fellows for leaving me out when you found the Captain Kidd treasure—and me a full-fledged member, paying dues and all, in the Mystery Boys.”

“We got ourselves into that adventure so fast that we didn’t have time to send word or even to think about you,” Tom admitted, with some regret, for Bill was a good companion on adventure trails, and he was, as he said, a regular member of their order since they had initiated him during their Inca experience.

“Well, give me the adventure, this time, anyhow,” urged Bill.

“And maybe some gold, too,” supplemented Cliff.

Then Tom related the story of their mine adventure and Henry Morgan’s tale.

To say that Bill was intrigued and eager would put it mildly. The ranch life had begun to grow tame to him: he loved adventure for its own sake, and for its thrills, as did Nicky. He began planning a trip without a delay.

Of course Mr. Gray’s last objection was removed. He had good reason to know and to trust Bill Sanders, and he did both to the full.

“I wasted no time,” Bill said. “I hopped my cayuse and galloped for the railroad, leaving my top hand in charge: but while I was laying over in a Texas town I got a long-distance telephone call in to a chum of mine in Galveston, asking if he had that cruising boat of his that he used to take me on hunting trips in. He did. We can charter it. It’s got an engine. Lots of cabin and storage room. It can go up pretty shallow rivers. It’s just what we need to go on an exploring trip.”

“You wasted no time,” said Mr. Gray. “You took it for granted that you and the boys would go.”

“That’s Bill!” praised Tom. “My telegram told him enough to get him started. I thought I’d better break a trail—we seemed to be stuck down here in this old hotel.”

His comrades praised his idea of summoning their former comrade. The very next day Bill and Tom returned to the mine, found Henry Morgan and had a talk. Bill asked some pretty sharp questions, but “Hen” gave satisfying replies and Bill arranged with him to return to Mexico City with them at once. This he did.

It seemed no time at all until the trim, staunch cruiser _Porto Bello_ was in harbor, with the chums, Bill and Henry aboard, well supplied. with gasoline, both in her tanks and in five gallon reserve cans, and with plenty of tinned food, as well as some arms and ammunition aboard. They waited only for Mr. Gray who had determined to become a passenger. He could explore the coast, he said, and if any real information could be gleaned he was determined to secure it. He had as much enthusiasm for his historical records as the chums had for Tom’s quest, or Henry Morgan and Bill for news of the mine—the one Henry’s unnamed friend called “The Golden Sun.”

“Anchor a-weigh!” cried Nicky, when Mr. Gray came aboard with clearance papers from the port authorities. “Man the capstan, me bully boys!”

“Man it yourself,” laughed Cliff, working with his chum at the small winch forward which drew the cable: they had been off on a trial spin to see that the engine worked perfectly, and had dropped anchor a little away from the wharves. “To be nearer being somewhere else,” as Nicky put it.

“Full speed ahead, Andy,” called Bill, already elected Captain by unanimous consent. The engineer, who accompanied the cruiser to help and to represent his employer, the boat’s owner, eased his throttle forward, and engaged the clutch sending the propeller around in the proper direction. The bow parted the waters of the bay, and with caps waving, and hurrah after hurrah, Tom, Nicky and Cliff stood on the after deck and watched Mexico’s humid, sweltering coastline drop away aft.

“Lay your course for the Golden Sun!” begged Nicky.

“And the mystery man of Hen-ry Mo-r-r-r-gan!” chanted Cliff.

“And news of Margery!” added Tom, soberly, but hopefully.